The Kid Is Alright Avengers
by pessimisticfuturistic
Summary: Nearly eighteen years ago, before Doctor Bruce Banner was a doctor and before he was the Hulk, he did something he still considers to this day incredibly stupid. But when he did this incredibly stupid thing, he never thought he'd meet the product.
1. Chapter 1

{Chapter One} Aren't We All?  
**- Dren Mercer -**  
It's raining in New York City when I arrive and a cloud of some unrecognizable emotion hangs above me. The air tastes like acid- smells like it too -and for a moment I think that the depression that hovers over the city is some sort-of foreshadowing. Like it's telling me to turn back, get on the next flight back to Amsterdam, and pretend I didn't waste nearly seven and a half hours on a plane ride over here. But then I think that's the Literature lover in me talking, and I continue down the walkway to the baggage claim, because deep down I know that I've waited too long for this to turn back. I've waited too long to meet him- him being my biological father.  
Almost eighteen years ago, back in 1995, a man named Bruce Banner donated sperm. I suppose that's where I began. My mother, Clara Beckett, had met her husband- my "father" -Charlie Mercer at a science convention in Chicago, Illinois. My mother was a genetics scientist. My "father" was studying gamma radiation. After they married, they discovered my "father's" sperm was "dead", they turned to a sperm donor. They just so happened to pick Bruce Banner's sperm. My parents packed up and moved to the Netherlands and then, I was born. A cute little girl- I still am cute and still am considered to be "little"- with intelligence beyond belief. I was far more advanced than everyone else, which is why they picked on me. When the bullying got to a certain point, my parents pulled me out of school and made the executive decision to home school me. I was twelve when my "father" died, and shortly afterwards my mother decided to move us to London, where I put my second language, English, to use. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer when I was sixteen, we moved back to Amsterdam. We used the rest of my "father's" life insurance to survive- my mother hadn't wanted to touch it, always saying it was my college fund. But at that moment, I didn't care about college. I only cared about my mother's well being. In the end, those treatments didn't matter. She died only a few weeks ago. I only stuck around long enough to bury her next to my "father"- her husband -and then I got the crazy idea that I'd go on a mad goose chase for my father. It only took me a few days to find him- Doctor Bruce Banner. The Hulk. An Avenger. Next thing I know, I've bought myself a ticket on the next flight to New York City and packed up all belongings, as if I knew he'd accept me and take me in.  
I hope he does, because if he doesn't, my only other option is either getting legally emancipated or being sent off to an orphanage until I turn eighteen, which would suck. I would be only for a few months, a little less than seven. I'd be in, then I'd be out.  
I quickly reach out and pluck my bags from the belt, bright yellow bags that could be seen from a mile away, and quickly attach the smaller one to the handle, before I roll it down the hallway again. I had four bags with me- my laptop case, my carry-on, and my two allowed bags. They're all I need. It seems my entire life is packed up in them.  
When I burst out the doors, it's still raining, though the smell of acid has let up. I waste no time hailing a cab and with the help of the driver, Hank, I place my bags in the trunk and slide into the backseat. Hank is a an older man; in his late fifties with graying hair and wise, old, eyes. But his smile is kind, and somehow I trust him. Looking back in the mirror at me, he asks, "Where to?"  
Settling myself into the seat, I cross my legs. "Avengers Tower." I reply nonchalantly, my eyes flickering to the left to look out the window. He doesn't comment, just pulls out of the parking lane and joins the traffic. I'm not sure how long we're driving, though it seems like forever. Maybe it's because I'm nervous. After all, most children of sperm donors are treated with hostility. And suddenly, I'm afraid. Not of him- not of the Hulk. But of rejection. What if he doesn't want to look after me, even though it'll only be for a few months? What if he's disgusted with me and who I am? What it doesn't accept me? I can see it now, me standing in the lobby of Avengers Tower, facing him. And he just turns away with the shake of his head and leaves me, alone. But the thoughts leave me quickly, as the yellow cab pulls up on the curb outside the tower.  
Hank looks back at me with those old, wise, eyes. "Kid," he asks me, "What are you doing here?"  
"I'm looking for someone." I respond truthfully, and he nods his head, chuckling softly.  
"Aren't we all?"  
And then I've paid, gotten my bags out of the trunk, and I'm standing under the overhang, an inner debate going on in my mind. Half of me is urging me to hail another cab, find a cheap hotel to stay in for the night and leave tomorrow. The other half is telling me that I'll never known unless I try; that I can't fly if I don't jump. I listen to the latter, and push open the doors leading into Avengers Tower.

/

**- Bruce Banner -**  
When I was twenty-six, back before I had met Betty and before I was the Hulk, I did something I never thought I'd have to do. Much like every other male in my college class, I was in desperate need for money. My job at the local Pizza Hut just didn't pay enough one day. I literally couldn't afford to live in my shitty apartment, nor could I afford groceries to feed myself. So when news spread around the campus that donating sperm was good money, almost everyone, including myself, jumped at the opportunity. I never did it again, however, but you only need to do it once for it to come back and bite you in the ass. Of course, I never dreamed that my child- my offspring -would go and search me down. It just never seemed like a plausible thought. Perhaps I jinxed myself.  
It's raining in New York City. The air tastes acid- I can taste it from inside -and some sort-of depression hovers over the city like one, giant, cloud. And somehow, I feel like it's sign. Like the rain is foreshadowing some other life defining moment. Then I think that it's just the Literature lover in me, and I settle back into the couch to reread science journals from over two decades ago. It's nice to indulge in how far we've come, and though I prefer to read in silence, this doesn't stop the drinking competition currently being held by Tony and Clint to cease. It actually seems to add fuel to the fire when I ask them to quiet down, so I've learned not to.  
"Sir?" The secretary's voice from downstairs fills the room, and Tony's head instantly jerks in the direction of the intercom.  
"What Janice?" Tony asks, bringing another shot to his mouth and gulping it down.  
"There's a woman here for Doctor Banner. She says it's a family emergency." My head snaps up.  
"Yeah Bruce doesn't have any family. At least, family he considers family." Tony retorts.  
"Don't tell him that." Another voice pipes up. "Tell him I'm the product of him donating sperm."  
Everyone's head snaps in my direction, but I don't take much notice. I'm too shocked to take notice.  
This would happen to me.

/

**SNEAK PEEK AT CHAPTER TWO!**  
"Does Mr. Stark turn into a green rage monster when his heart beats at intensified speeds?" The girl asks.  
"...No." Clint says cautiously, throwing his hands up to shield his face when Natasha makes a move to punch him again.  
"Then yeah. I'm pretty sure I'm not here for Tony." 


	2. Chapter 2

{Chapter Two} Green Rage Monster, Ex-Playboy, Birdbrain, and a Beautiful Red Head  
**- Bruce Banner -**  
There are very few times in which the tower is completely silent, and most of those times are when we're all tucked away in our beds fast asleep. This is one of those rare moments though, in which we've all been shocked into silence in the middle of the day. No one says anything- I'm not even sure I'm breathing -as if being completely silent will make whoever the hell is downstairs go away. And as if she's read my mind, she speaks up. "You know," She says, "being silent isn't going to make me believe you're not up there anymore, because I've literally heard you talk. And for most of you, the only way out is down so there's no sneaking past me."  
Clint is the first one to talk and because of this Natasha punches him in the shoulder. "Are you sure you're not here for Tony?"  
"Does Mr. Stark turn into a green rage monster when his heart beats at intensified speeds?" The girl asks.  
"...No." Clint says cautiously, throwing his hands up to shield his face when Natasha makes a move to punch him again.  
"Then yeah. I'm pretty sure I'm not here for Tony."  
"Just checking." Clint says, his eyes flickering back over to me. He has this look of disbelief on his face that screams, "really-you're-the-one-who-donated-sperm-really" mixed with his regular smug look. An image of me as the Hulk smashing his face in pops into my mine, and I quickly dismiss it, jumping to my feet. Everyone else follows suit, Clint grinning like crazy. "Ooh! If we're going to meet Bruce's daughter, can I at least make popcorn first?"  
Natasha glares, her eyes flickering over to me. "You or me?"  
"You." I say without hesitation, watching as she socks him hard into the shoulder. He goes stumbling to the right, crying out in pain and clutching his arm, pouting like a little boy who hadn't gotten the toy he wanted.  
"Janice, we'll be down in a moment." Tony tells the secretary, as we shuffle into the elevator. Clint insists on pushing the button to the lobby, which Natasha punches him for again because why not, and for the five minute ride the only sound that can be heard is the elevator music. Any other day and the catchy show tune would be stuck in my head, but in this particular moment the only thing I can think is, "Why me? Out of everyone in the world, why did it have to be me?" And I suppose I have this look on my face that just screams, "Oh God why me?" because Tony gives me a sympathetic look and pats me on the shoulder. It's his way of telling me everything will be alright without actually using his words and for a split second it's comforting.  
But then, the doors to the elevator slide open, and that minuscule piece of comfort I felt disappears.

/

**- Dren Mercer -**  
I have never been more afraid than when Tony Stark told Janice that they were coming down. They. Plural. As in multiple people. And it was in that moment that I wanted to crawl under a rock, or better- throw myself in front of a subway. It's only when I notice I'm edging towards the door that I stop to take a breath- in, out, in, out. I shouldn't be afraid. I'm expecting the worse- I'm expecting him to take one disgust filled look at me before walking away. I'm expecting that. So I don't understand why I have a mini-heart attack when the elevator door slides open.  
There are three men in the elevator- a blonde haired man I've yet to put a name to, genius, billionaire, ex-playboy, philanthropist Tony Stark, and finally Doctor Bruce Banner –along with a red haired woman who looks like she can beat me in a fight. Actually, everyone looks like they can beat me in a fight. I am, after all, a scrawny person.  
Shuffling around on my feet, I raise my hand and wave slightly, giving them a shy grin. "Hi!" I say. "I'm Dren- Dren Mercer. Or, I suppose, Dren Banner. It's nice to finally meet you."  
I extend my hand towards them, still expecting the worse as they stare at it like it's some rabid animal, before the blonde haired man lurches forward and grabs it, shaking it enthusiastically. "Hello!" He says in a singsong tone, grinning wildly. "I'm Clint." He then spins around to introduce the others. "That," He says, pointing at the beautiful red head, "Is Natasha. He's-"  
"Tony Stark" He says, cutting Clint off and taking my hand to shake it. "You have a... peculiar name."  
"Not really." I admit hesitantly, shrugging my shoulders. "It's just 'nerd' spelt backwards. Nothing peculiar about it."  
He smiles at me, before sliding back from in front of Clint and it's only then that I notice the blonde glaring at him. Clint clears his throat, an annoyed look on his face, before he grins again, eyes sparkling wildly. "Ignore him. He's annoying."  
"Ignore birdbrain!" Tony pipes up, popping out from behind Clint. "He's the annoying one."  
"Ignore both of them." Natasha intervenes, the corner of her lips twitching. "They're both annoying."  
I just stifle a giggle behind my hand, watching as the two men argue about whose more annoying while Natasha tries to but an end to their nonsense. That's when I notice Bruce's warm brown eyes on me, watching me, and suddenly my smile slides from my face as I turn towards him. "Hi." I say softly, my hands clasped behind my back.  
"Are you really-" _Mine?_  
"Yeah." I reply, looking down at my feet. "I understand if you don't want to look after me, but I really need you to." Looking up, I see confusion written across his features. "I don't have anyone left- my 'father' died when I was little. I just buried my mother. If you don't look after me, which I totally understand if you don't want to, I'll have to go back to Amsterdam where I'll be put in a foster home for seven months. Seven months. It's such a short time but it'll still feel like an eternity for me. And I promise if you just look after me for the next couple of months I won't cause any trouble- you won't even know I'm here. I just... I really need your help. I don't have anyone else."  
His eyes widen as if I've punched him and the arguing behind me has ceased. They're watching us, waiting for Bruce's answer. An image of him turning his back on me flashes into my mind, but then he speaks. His voice is kind- hesitant, but kind and I know that when he looks into my eyes he sees himself. "You won't cause any trouble?"  
"Nope." I respond, a grin twitching on the corner of my lips.  
He rubs the back of his neck, his chocolate brown eyes staring into my own, before he sighs. "Alright." He tells me. "You can stay here."  
I can't help myself from launching into him, wrapping my arms around his stiff form and burying my face in his chest. "Thank you!" I say happily, though it's muffled by the fabric of his light yellow shirt. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"  
I can feel his arm reach up to awkwardly pat me on my head, and for a moment he just lets me hold him before speaking again. "Let's get you upstairs so you can settle in, okay?"  
Pulling away, I give him a sheepish grin. "Okay."  
Bruce gives me a small smile before Clint grabs my arm and pulls me to him, giving me a noggie. "Welcome to the family kid."  
I don't respond; just laugh and smile because it felt good. It felt good to be wanted. It felt good to have a family again.

/**  
****SNEAK PEEK AT THE NEXT CHAPTER****  
I watch as Tony saunters over to Steve, grinning like crazy. "Hey Cap!" He greets, a devilish look in his eye- a look I don't like. "You missed a lot while you were away doing Fury's dirty work."  
I can see the gears turning in Steve's head as he forces himself to forget that last part. He takes a breath before speaking. "Oh yeah?" He asks. "What'd I miss?"  
"Well, it turns out Bruce isn't perfect." He says bluntly, bouncing from his heels to his toes.**  
**"Never said I was."**


	3. Chapter 3

{Chapter Three} It Gets Better  
-Bruce Banner-  
Dren Mercer was one of those rarities in life. She was one of those people that were beautiful on the inside and the out- something hard to come by in the world today. She saw things in a different light and had such a vivid imagination. It was hard not to fall in love with her. She was the type of person that could make anyone smile without doing anything really. Just by being herself- her bright, optimistic, self -she could get you smiling. And once you started, it was hard to stop. Once she got you smiling, once she got you talking, you could drone on for hours and she wouldn't even stop you. She was just that type of person. A bright, beautiful, person. If the rest of the world was like her- if I was like her –then who knows what would happen. Then who knows what the world would be like.  
Sneaking a glance at Dren through the corner of my eye, I see her skipping happily alongside Clint who's carrying her biggest, yellow, bag. Tony has her laptop bag on her shoulder and Natasha's pulling her smaller, yellow, bag behind her, balancing it on one wheel. I don't know why I'm leading the way to the guest room, when it is, after all, Tony's tower. He knows it better than me, and I've actually gotten us lost twice now, even though we've only been walking for ten minutes. But none of them seem to notice or care, still entangled in Dren's web of loveliness.  
"So your native tongue is Dutch, and your second language is English." It's more of a comment than a question, but Dren answers nonetheless.  
"Yeah." She says shyly. "I only learned English because my mother knew very little Dutch, so living in Amsterdam was hard for her. She didn't have any friends and she didn't know the language so she couldn't communicate with anyone. Not to mention the fact I couldn't understand her when she was trying to tell me something important. So my mother began to teach me English as she began to learn Dutch."  
"Cool." Tony comments. "Do you know any other languages?"  
"My third language is French, though I know a bit of German and Italian, though, probably not enough to hold up a conversation."  
"Pensez-vous que vous aimez ici? " Tony asks. _(Do you think you'll like it here?)_  
"Oui. Je me sens déjà à la maison ici. Il est bon d'avoir de nouveau une famille. "_ (Yes. I already feel at home here. It's nice to have a family again.)_  
Tony grins wildly and Dren blushes, and wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. "Kid, don't be all…"  
"Sentimental?"  
"Yeah. Sentimental- don't be so saccharine. You'll end up making me cry. And I'm not, a pretty crier."  
"You're not a pretty anything!" Clint pipes up, wrapping his arm around her other shoulder. "You know, if you ever get tired of talking to the old man-"  
"You want to go birdbrain?"  
"Yeah I want to go grandpa." Clint pounds on his chest. "Bring it on."  
"Yeah no. I'm not the grandpa here- Steve's the grandpa."  
"Steve?" Dren asks, seeming to perk up at the mention of a new person. "Who's Steve?"  
"You probably know him better as Captain America-"Natasha begins, though she's cut off by a certain billionaire.  
"More like you know him better as a Capsicle. He was frozen in ice for almost seventy years." He then jabs a finger in the direction of the elevator. "He's off on some mission though he'll be back late tonight. You'll know who he is in the morning; he'll be the one gulping down food like he's in a hot dog eating competition. You probably won't have much of an appetite after that. If you do, we'll take you somewhere, cause I highly doubt they'll be anything left."  
"You'd think Fury would feed his agents."  
"No." Clint and Natasha deadpan at the same time. "No he doesn't."  
"I can make breakfast." Dren suggests, causing Tony and Clint's attention to turn towards her. "I worked at this bakery once. The owner, Nana, taught me how to make almost everything there. Pancakes and doughnuts and a whole bunch of other stuff. I'd be happy to make breakfast if you want."  
"Yes." This time it's Clint and Tony that speak in unison, drooling with anticipation. I know they're imagining the food already- they've got that dreamy look on their faces.  
"You don't have to." I announce, causing her to look at me.  
"Hm?"  
"You don't have to make breakfast." Clint and Tony cut me off.  
"Yes she does!"  
"I mean, you'd be cooking a lot." I say, ignoring them. "I'd say cooking for us is like cooking for a small army but it's more of cooking for all of Asia. It's a near impossible mission. You wouldn't believe how many chefs have quit because of Thor alone."  
She smiles, showcasing her white pearly teeth. "I want to. It's the least that I can do."  
I smile back, watching as Tony and Clint pile up a mile-high list of food for Dren to eat, and not once do I see her looking overwhelmed. She just nods her head, smiling and listening, making suggestions every so often that make them go, "Ooo!" or "Yeah!". Natasha's the only one noticing I'm staring, maybe it's because she's staring too, and quickly she walks over to me smiling.  
"It's hard not to fall in love with her, isn't it?" She asks me, and I nod.  
"She's beautiful Nat. And not just on the outside- on the inside too. She's just..."  
"Wow?" Natasha suggests, a smirk playing on the edge of her lips.  
"Yeah." I agree. "She's just wow. I'd hate to mess that up."  
"You won't." She tells me, placing her hand on my shoulder.  
"I hope not."

/

-Dren Mercer-  
I found it hard for me to sleep that night. When it was midnight in New York it was six a.m in Amsterdam- I would be thirty minuets into my morning jog by now. Of course, if I left the tower right now, I wouldn't be met with the friendly faces I saw in Amsterdam. Instead I'd be met with drunks, drug dealers, and rapists. I'd prefer to avoid those.  
So instead, I found myself sitting on the carpet of my new room, staring out the floor to ceiling windows at the New York skyline, like I used to back in Amsterdam after my mother was diagnosed. During the rare times she slept through the night, I sat on the roof and stared out at the city, hoping that someone would swoop in and save the day- save my mother from dying. Of course, that didn't happen. It'd be too easy. Life isn't easy.  
There were moments back when I still lived in Amsterdam after my mother's death, that I'd lay in her bed and cry myself to sleep. I missed her- life without her would be so much dimmer. The world, without her, was a darker place. There were times in which I wanted to die- jump off a bridge and drown or take a handful of pills. But every time I saw my mother's face, whether it was in a memory or a picture, I couldn't bring myself to do it.  
"Life is hard," She'd tell me when I'd come home crying. "But it gets better. The things that happen today, most likely won't matter in a few years. Yes, it'll hurt. But not for long. Wounds heal my darling. It gets better."  
Those words still follow me today, in everyday life. After my mother died, those words were constantly on my mind. It gets better. It gets better. It always gets better.

/

**SNEAK PEEK AT CHAPTER FOUR;**  
Looking back, I notice the similarities. They come washing over me like a tidal wave, but the one I notice the most is their eyes. The same warm, chocolate, brown eyes with a hidden sadness in them. Someone as beautiful as her should never be sad. 


End file.
